


Hard Out of the Sun

by micehell



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU (divergence from canon right before the end of TPM), Angst, Drama, M/M, it's somewhat a fusion with a certain movie (see end notes for spoiler of which one), set post-ROTS (or where ROTS would have been in the AU storyline)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-18
Updated: 2007-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:42:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan woke up.  That was the first surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard Out of the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Big Country.

Obi-Wan woke to a small, clean room, dim light seeping softly through white, nubby cloth curtains. It certainly wasn't what he expected. Not that he'd expected to wake at all, of course, but even beyond that, he'd never thought to see anything again except for the cell he'd lived in so long. But the soft pallet under him was unfamiliar, and a cautious stretch produced nothing more than a fading ache, the kind he'd always associated with a prolonged stay in bacta.

What he mainly felt was a bemused surprise, and it was only the faint thrumming in his veins, that long suppressed feel of the Force, that let him trust in the strange new world around him, that it wasn't going to fade back into the familiar darkness and pain that had been his for months -- years? -- now.

He looked around the room, taking in the gray stone of the walls, smooth with age, and wondered where Qui-Gon had taken him. No place he'd been before, but then Vader would have known all of those, so this was better. Sitting up, atrophied muscles not cooperating in the least, Obi-Wan wondered how long they'd been there, wherever there happened to be, and how Qui-Gon had gotten him out.

He'd thought it was a dream, Qui-Gon's face a blur to his dimming eyes. He'd thought the feel of that warm hand on his forehead, the sound of that low, rumbly voice, were drawn from memories. He'd welcomed the dream, thinking it his last, and put the idea that Qui-Gon might care enough to risk the Emperor's stronghold for him close to his heart, but he'd hurt too much, been too long in Vader's care, to truly believe in last minute rescues.

Looking at a room that was definitely not in the Emperor's hold, Obi-Wan laughed. The muscles he used for that were long atrophied, too, but it was worth the strain to feel genuine amusement bubbling low in his stomach, like sparkling wine, and nothing like the bitter sarcasm and dark humor he'd hid behind so long. He really should have known, should have believed, that if anyone could find a way out of that prison, out of the heart of darkness, it was Qui-Gon.

There was a little tug on his senses, a remnant of the bond that had survived, in one form or another, almost a quarter of a century, its nature changing as the relationship between them did, and Obi-Wan knew Qui-Gon was close. Determined not to look as helpless as he was, he tried to stand up, to meet Qui-Gon on his feet, but, as always, pride went before the fall, and he found himself looking up at Qui-Gon, one cheek planted on the floor, his ass in the air. He smiled on the outside, let Qui-Gon help him up, but under his breath Obi-Wan cursed the fate that seemed to save his most humiliating moments for when Qui-Gon was there to see them.

Qui-Gon bit back a grin, long used to Obi-Wan's view of his fate, but only said, "Always so stubborn, even when you should be old enough to know better. If you'd waited until I got here, you wouldn't have ended up ass over kettle."

Obi-Wan didn't bother to hide his answering smile. He'd always liked it when Qui-Gon's dignified Jedi persona slid away to reveal the not quite as dignified man beneath. It was especially appreciated now, leaving him free to enjoy the moment before reality had to be faced again. "Maybe I just wanted to find an excuse for you to hold me."

It won him a laugh, and a fleeting moment of regret in Qui-Gon's eyes, but then they cleared, growing serious, and Obi-Wan knew his moment was gone. "You'll still be weak for a while, Obi-Wan. You were quite… unwell."

"I can well believe it. I feel like I've been in a bacta tank for months."

Another emotion shadowed Qui-Gon's eyes for a moment, but Obi-Wan couldn't identify this one, there and gone too fast as Qui-Gon put on a patently earnest face, and said, "Yes, well, that's all behind us now. You should be feeling better in no time."

Qui-Gon was right; Obi-Wan was certainly old enough to know better, about many things. Such as when someone was giving mindless assurances, or when they were avoiding things. Obi-Wan looked at his former master, wondering what was going on. There were so many questions that needed to be asked and answered, so many things that Obi-Wan really needed to know. But he could feel the concern and hesitation echoing along the bond between them, and he could feel memories that were still sitting too close, shaking through him, and he knew he owed this man everything. So he just nodded, letting the questions lie. Following Qui-Gon's lead as he had for most of his life, even in the years when Anakin's need for attention kept them at a distance. The answers could wait until later.

In the meantime, Obi-Wan had spent months dreaming up long, intricate menus of all the things he would eat if he ever got away, and even though he wasn't really hungry, he felt honor-bound to have some kind of celebratory dinner. "I don't suppose there's any gelseme to be had, is there?"

Qui-Gon stared at him for a moment, trying to follow the leap in subject, but eventually just shook his head, long inured to Obi-Wan's odd starts. "Well, I'd have to check the pantry, but I'm pretty sure there's no gelseme in there. Perhaps you should set your sights on something that isn't one of the rarest meals in the galaxy."

Considering, Obi-Wan said, "Okay, how about Mytos fruit?"

At his driest, Qui-Gon nodded, the picture of gravity. "Why, yes, we have an entire orchard of those out back. Right next to the tree with leaves of gold."

Qui-Gon led them out of the room, their arms linked to provide some extra support. Obi-Wan could hear a slight murmur in the distance, voices he thought were probably Mace and Yoda's, and he was grateful to know that at least two of his friends had survived the purge. He felt almost giddy with it, and he drew Qui-Gon's arm in tighter, a pleasure he'd never expected to feel again. "An orchard might do. For a start."

Qui-Gon snorted at that. "Yes, well from someone who once ate an entire rack of bantha ribs, I'm sure I'm not surprised."

Protesting the memory Qui-Gon would never let him forget -- "That was one time, and I was fifteen!" -- Obi-Wan walked down an unknown hall to an unknown future, unasked questions trailing behind him like a shadow.

::::::::::

The outside walls of the temple on Yavin 4 were vine-covered, crumbling with neglect and damp, but still mostly intact, something of a miracle considering their age. From Yoda's stories, the temple had been ancient long before even he had been born, and the wars that had beset it had certainly done nothing to help with the weight and wear of years.

Obi-Wan wiped away the sweat that was pooling on his neck, and darkly thought that the climate certainly hadn't helped things along either. Yoda said that the hazy, humid days would soon give way to more temperate air, but, sweating out his weight in water as he cleared away loose stones and the ever-present vines, Obi-Wan took the old master's weather forecasting with a certain degree of skepticism. Memory of a fieldtrip to Dagobah only made him ask, "And how exactly do you define temperate?"

And while it was a somewhat mordant question, and hardly as respectful as he should be, Obi-Wan was still surprised when silence was his only answer. Yoda always treated Obi-Wan's crankiness as an excuse to respond in kind, never in the least insulted by the familiarity, but when Obi-Wan turned, he found Yoda staring at him curiously. Almost warily.

It had happened before, more often than Obi-Wan was comfortable with, even before the galaxy had exploded around them, leaving only the scant handful of Jedi that remained out of the thousands that had comprised the Order before. But since his rescue, since coming to this new Temple, it had become almost common to find Yoda's eyes on him, waiting for something that Obi-Wan found himself reluctant to know.

He couldn't define why it made him nervous. It wasn't as if he believed Yoda was a danger to him, but Obi-Wan had been unsettled since he'd woken up here. Since he'd found out that Vader really hadn't been lying all that time, that he and the Emperor truly had destroyed the Jedi.

Since the dreams had started.

They were vague, nebulous, and he couldn't remember them when he woke. Except for darkness; vast oceans of it that pulled at his limbs, dragged him under, drowning him in blindness. It scared him at a primal level, beyond reason, as if the darkness in the dreams, the darkness in his memories, were hiding a threat he could only feel was coming.

In that eerie way he had, Yoda answered one of the fears that Obi-Wan hadn't voiced yet. "Know of this place, the Emperor does not. Vader does not."

It should have been a comfort to him. But the darkness in his dreams felt close at hand, and the mild prescience that Qui-Gon had always been so dismissive of was scratching at the back of his thoughts. "Yet. They don't know of it yet."

Obi-Wan shivered in the hot air as he went back to his work, knowing more than a change in the weather was coming.

::::::::::

The temple library had once had long rows of cloth and paper books, something Obi-Wan had only seen in pictures. There weren't even pictures now, the wealth of accumulated knowledge reduced to nothing more than a shallow sea of lumpy dust, dotted by little islands of dirt, rock, and the bones left behind by some of the more recent inhabitants.

One of the still-living inhabitants darted out in front of Obi-Wan, sinking the island it had been hiding under, and he felt his heartbeat race, his nerves still on edge even after he'd identified it as one of the local harmless _tiny_ lizards. He shook his head at himself, at his lack of control, and wondered what was setting him off like this.

Dust bin under one arm, a brush made of sticks and fronds under another, Obi-Wan started sweeping away the history, automatically performing the task as he turned his attention to trying to release his fears into the Force. It was something he'd been trained to do since before he could remember, but the skill seemed to have escaped him since he'd woken up in this temple. Maybe all the months of wearing a Force-suppressor had damaged him in some way, because his control seemed to be erratic at best now, just one more thing to add to his case of nerves.

Reaching the end of the row, he emptied the bin out of a nearby window, its glass long gone. The dust swirled away on unseen currents, and Obi-Wan watched them for a moment, almost hypnotized, as if the  
pattern could tell him something. But all he got for his effort was a sneeze caused by a lingering bit of dust, and he turned back to the next row, his questions still intact.

He tried to let his mind drift to nothing, but he had no better luck at that, his thoughts circling back to the dreams that wouldn't seem to leave him be. They'd grown worse as time passed, fueling his disquiet. Qui-Gon kept telling him they would improve as his health did, but even that was a sore point. Obi-Wan had been on Yavin for over a month, that he'd been awake for, anyway, and he couldn't understand why he wasn't completely healed by now. There were no lingering wounds, nothing to explain why he still tired so easily.

As if to reaffirm his worry, by the time he finished with the next row Obi-Wan's muscles had started to burn with the effort. Sighing, he emptied the bin, again watching the drifting dust as he rested against the sill. This enervation was as irritating as the dreams, weakness he hated in himself.

He'd always been impatient of weakness, in himself and others, a flaw Qui-Gon had called him on many times, but he'd passed impatience with his own long before he'd woken here on Yavin. Ever since Kashyyyk and the scant seconds' warning the Force had given him, only enough time that he'd been taken alive instead of dead, and had far too much time to regret that outcome. He'd spent hours -- days, weeks, months -- in a cell, listing all the things he could have done, _should_ have done, but he'd been too weak, and the troopers had overwhelmed him. Too weak, and he'd been brought before the Emperor, a trophy to be gloated over. Too weak, and he'd been given to Vader, a toy to play out every jealous impulse Anakin had ever had about his master's former student, a proxy target for his anger over the battle with Qui-Gon, where Vader had lost his legs and the last bit of Anakin that was left inside.

Even with his blood staining his cell, him, and Vader's armor, he had only been able to lie there helplessly as Vader knitted together the veins that Obi-Wan had so strongly cut, too weak to even grasp the only escape open to him.

He laughed at himself, the brave Jedi knight who'd had to be rescued by his master. Was still having to be rescued by him, being given the easy jobs, the ones that barely took a child's strength or skill, as they all worked to prepare the temple. He hadn't even seen most of the handful of Jedi who were there, apparently always at work even when he wasn't, when he couldn't anymore, too tired to keep going. And while Obi-Wan didn't really believe in the resistance movement Qui-Gon, Mace, and Yoda talked about forming, not now while the Emperor's hold was still tight and new and the people's fear of it so fresh, and while he thought creating a new school was little more than a dream, he did believe in Qui-Gon, had followed him freely for most of his life, and it galled him to be the weak link in the chain.

It also galled him that he was daydreaming about an unpleasant past when there were still work to be done. He turned back to the library, fighting another sneeze from the lingering dust, and felt his own breath cut off as the sound of Vader's breath echoed down the hallway outside, coming closer.

For a moment, he thought it a memory he'd summoned by thinking Vader's name, but the Force curled darkly around him, and Obi-Wan couldn't hold on to that comforting thought for long. His mind bright with fear, he wasted a few more precious seconds cursing Yoda and himself for not believing that Vader would find them so quickly.

Then he had no time to waste at all as Vader entered the room, a wave of Force seeming to rush out from his outstretched hand, knocking Obi-Wan to the floor, his head hitting with a sharp crack. He shook it, trying to clear his vision, and looked up to see Vader towering over him, a too-familiar sight, and it was only then that he remembered he wasn't collared anymore, that this time he could fight.

The bucket went flying, but Vader didn't even bother to duck, swatting it away as he leaned over Obi-Wan, thick, gloved hands wrapping around his neck, pulling him up, choking him, without any effort.

Obi-Wan threw every loose object that his dazed mind could grasp straight at Vader, uncaring that he was in the path, too, determined that this time he wouldn't be weak, but Vader just slapped him, lightly, patting his cheek, calling his name.

It didn't make sense, nor did the fact that Vader was using Qui-Gon's voice and face. The hand at Obi-Wan's neck was gone, only Qui-Gon's large, warm ones rubbing comforting circles along his back, his voice soft in Obi-Wan's ear, saying, "It was only a dream. Only a dream."

Obi-Wan tucked his chin in against Qui-Gon's shoulder, his arms holding on too tightly, but unable to let go. He looked at the library over Qui-Gon's shoulder, the only sign of a disturbance the bucket lying halfway across the room, still rocking slowly from where he must have thrown it, no tracks in the ever-present dust except for theirs.

"Only a dream," Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan tried to believe him.

 

::::::::::

Obi-Wan walked empty hallways, cold, gray floors, and wanted to run. Wanted to feel his body working, strain to go faster, his breath burning in his chest with a freedom that wouldn't be his much longer, but he was too tired. It wouldn't make a difference in the end, anyway. The sound of blaster fire came from the distance, and he thought about turning towards it, to help, but it was pointless. The shots were just the coup de grace, they were all dead already. He could only hope to follow soon.

The hallway gave way to another, and Obi-Wan idly debated whether the right or left turn would lead to the better fate, knowing both paths were the same in the end. But then the deep rasp of a vocoder came from close behind, and his fate was upon him without any choice at all. His mind, full of fear he'd been well trained to, tried to flitter away from what was happening, and he wondered how Vader had approached without him sensing him, without hearing the mechanically-assisted breath. But then Vader had been trained by the Emperor, who'd had long practice with hiding himself in the Force. And Obi-Wan had been trained by Qui-Gon, and he would face his fate head on.

He turned to the man who haunted his dreams. That body, larger in this half-life than it'd been before, implants and armor adding mass that was palpably, purposely, menacing, came closer, driving Obi-Wan back into the wall. A voice in his head, sounding eerily like Anakin as a child, cried out, begging for a mercy he knew better than to expect, but it was stilled as invisible hands closed around his throat, as leather-clad ones gripped his own. There was a puff of breath on his face as Vader leaned in, that mass crushing against the length of his body, the dark, inhuman mask inches away his face, threatening, _intimate_. His own voice, choked by the hold on his throat, by the weight on his body, cried out then, cursing his weakness, and the fate that had allowed him to see Qui-Gon again before he died, but -- with the sound of blaster fire that seemed to echo in the halls, in the throb of his struggling heart -- had demanded too high a price for it.

The grip on his hands softened, the one on his throat faded away, and he coughed, trying to re-inflate desperate lungs, even as Qui-Gon's voice replaced his own. "Obi-Wan! It's just a dream, breathe, damn you!"

Obi-Wan struggled to do just that, feeling the newly oxygenated blood rush to his face, embarrassed, once again, at the fate that always had Qui-Gon catching him at his worst moments. He knew that his air of calm and decorum, borrowed heavily from Qui-Gon and Mace, was too often a façade, but sitting shivering on the floor, sobbing for breath, was demonstrating that fact a little too well.

There was nothing but concern on Qui-Gon's face, though. "I should have heeded Mace more closely. He said I was dismissing the dreams too lightly. How often is this happening?"

He had overheard part of their conversation the night before, enough to hear Mace yell, _it's more than that, pay attention to something besides your own quandaries_ , and for both him and Yoda to try to corner Qui-Gon, _you have to tell him_ , a difficult proposition under any circumstances. But Obi-Wan didn't know if it wasn't worse if Qui-Gon took the dreams seriously. There was a comfort in thinking it was just him, a fault in him that was slowly driving him mad enough to dream out loud. "Almost every day, though some are worse than others."

"Is it always Vader?"

Obi-Wan nodded, not trusting his voice right now. His control was still too erratic, and he didn't want to make more of a fool of himself than he already had.

Qui-Gon was studying him, like a specimen under glass, and it strangely made Obi-Wan feel better. Qui-Gon wouldn't simply accept that the dreams were visions, regardless of anyone's arguments. He knew Obi-Wan better than the others, had seen him at his worst. Plus he had the bond to let him in on the fear and anger that Obi-Wan still couldn't release. He'd wondered if the dreams weren't simply nightmares, disturbingly played out. Like Obi-Wan wondered.

Coming to some sort of decision, Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan's hand, drawing him up. He didn't let go of the hand as they walked quietly down the corridor, in tacit agreement to wait until they got to Obi-Wan's room to talk. It wasn't far, and he wondered if he'd been subconsciously making his way there, even in the dream.

Qui-Gon hesitated in the doorway, as if not sure he should enter. Finally he said, "There's something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you before. But…"

"But…" Obi-Wan prodded, but Qui-Gon shook his head, still internally debating.

Obi-Wan drew him all the way into the room by the hand he still held. All of the questions that needed answers followed them in, unwelcome guests, but they had to be addressed eventually. No matter that Obi-Wan was more than a little hesitant about hearing them, or that Qui-Gon was hesitant to tell him. And it wouldn't do any good to push him further, as Qui-Gon was largely immoveable when he thought himself right, as Mace and Yoda had rediscovered again last night.

As Qui-Gon pretty much always thought himself right, Obi-Wan had learned to live with it years ago. But it didn't mean that he couldn't try to work around the problem. "The thing you should tell me, is it the reason the others are never around when I am?"

It was a small mystery, why he never saw the others, but it had still made him curious. Even a little paranoid. He'd gone as far as checking his reflection in a pool of rain water, wondering if Vader had left some sign on him that he couldn't remember.

Qui-Gon's mouth opened and closed as he started and then rejected several responses. Eventually his shoulders slumped, Obi-Wan cornering him in a way the others couldn't hope to: by his need to help his student, no matter how old that student was. "Yes."

Nothing else was volunteered, so Obi-Wan continued the guessing game, moving on to a larger concern. "Is it the reason I'm having the dreams? The…," he hesitated, still not sure if it was worse to be crazy or not. But he'd started the game, and the answer wouldn't change the reality. "The visions?"

Qui-Gon looked honestly surprised, though. "I hadn't thought of that." He gave a small laugh. "Yoda didn't mention the possibility either. But then he's always said I stifled your talent for prescience with my insistence on the here and now. I wonder, though, if it's not showing up now for another reason." He looked a little disturbed at that, but again offered nothing else.

Which only gave him more questions, but he plowed on with the thread he'd been following. "Is it the reason why I can't let go of what happened with Vader and the Emperor?"

He probably imagined the look of pity of Qui-Gon's face, it wasn't an emotion the other man was prone to, but it still felt like a slap when Qui-Gon finally shook his head, and said, "No. It's because you can't let that go that I can't… I haven't told you."

So whatever it was, and whether he was having dreams or visions, it didn't matter, because that fault still lay in him. Obi-Wan sagged, his questions swallowed by his doubts. "I can't go on like this."

Qui-Gon shook the hand in his, concern and determination both in his grip. There had been times in Obi-Wan's life when he'd doubted Qui-Gon. When they first met, and Qui-Gon refused to acknowledge the bond between them. When they found Anakin, and Qui-Gon seemed to go from _you still have much to learn_ to _there is nothing more I can teach you_ in the space of a breath. When Anakin's jealousy of the bond that lingered, far stronger than his own, had led to distance and formality where there'd been warmth and friendship before. But this was also the man who'd thrown off years of doubt to take on a student who needed him. Who'd held off death at Obi-Wan's call. Who'd braved the Emperor's stronghold, against all sane odds, to save one fool knight who shouldn't have let himself be taken in the first place. Whatever doubts Obi-Wan might ever have had, he knew Qui-Gon wasn't going to let him go now.

"Let me help," Qui-Gon said.

Months of feeling helpless -- stupid, weak -- were still cold inside him, even against the warmth of Qui-Gon's offer, and he couldn't quite keep the despair out of his voice. "How?"

Hands, always more gentle than their size would suggest, brushed back the hair grown too long that hung in Obi-Wan's eyes. "You keep trying to let go of the fear and anger… the hate, like you always have before. Emotions you can let go, separate from yourself. But they're too deep, now, too long ingrained. Too much a part of you to let go without losing yourself."

Something he'd already suspected, and hardly comforting, but oddly so all the same. Qui-Gon wouldn't be offering help if he didn't have an idea. Tears stung Obi-Wan's eyes, half out of relief, and he gave a watery chuckle. "I knew nothing I tried was working. It was almost like nothing I'd ever learned would work anymore, as if it couldn't because I wasn't the same."

A stricken look crossed Qui-Gon's face for a second, and Obi-Wan thought back on what he'd said, confused, but then Qui-Gon was back to business, his face clothed in nothing but calm, his voice soft and coaxing as he led Obi-Wan to the bed, sitting him down on it, taking off his boots, his outer tunic, as if Obi-Wan were thirteen again, overtired from a hard mission, tracking on nothing but his master's voice to lead him home. "Sit, Padawan." His old title even, fond memory. Safe. "Let me be your anchor."

It was like so many other times with Qui-Gon, the lesson clear and concise, gone over until Obi-Wan was comfortable with it, a hand placed on his shoulder for encouragement, reward.

He couldn't say which one of them started it, which one of them pushed past the limits of student and teacher to make the touch mean something more. But it had been so long since someone had touched Obi-Wan like this, with kindness and intent, and he had loved Qui-Gon for years before he'd understood what it meant. He didn't say anything as they lay back on the bed, legs tangled, mouths joined, hands mapping out the new planes in their relationship. He didn't say anything as Qui-Gon shuddered against him, his hands never slowing, making Obi-Wan shudder in turn. His questions and doubts stilled, their hold on him fading, away from the center that Qui-Gon had helped him make. They were still there, too long a habit to be broken so easily, but he felt calmer, saner, than he had in ages.

Qui-Gon, however, was apparently chatty after sex, looking sideways at Obi-Wan, a large smile on his face. "I wasn't sure that would work…" he trailed off, smile fading a little into wistfulness. "I dreamed about it for years."

That wasn't a surprise. Obi-Wan had known Qui-Gon returned his affection, had felt the odd flashes of desire that had escaped into the bond. But the Code had always been there, standing in the way. They had both been far too prone to attachments as it was; deepening their relationship would have been asking for trouble. Obi-Wan found a question on his lips, after all. "Why now?"

Qui-Gon turned on his side, draping an arm across Obi-Wan to keep him close. He was still smiling, part amazement, part delight, but all of it tempered by time, by long-standing affection. "Why not now? The Jedi are gone except for a scant handful. Whatever we are to become, the rules we lived by for so long will be largely useless. Easy to be detached when you have the authority of the Republic at your back, when there's a known order to things, and everyone understands what it is. But everything's changed. We'll be working beside people whose passion to do what's right outweighs their fears of retribution. Will they understand it if we tell them that for us there is no passion? Will they understand a lack of attachment, when it's what they'll live by?"

Obi-Wan agreed in many ways. He'd never been good at that part of the Code at the best of times. His love of Qui-Gon, his fear of losing him, had driven him close to the edges the Dark side, perhaps over it, when Maul had tried to kill them both, and yet he believed he was a good Jedi for all of that. Vader was still a frightening example, though, of the perils of attachment. But Anakin's love of Padme had been only a part of his fall, the fuel to embers that had been there since childhood, fanned further by a sense of entitlement. Obi-Wan believed, if they were mindful, there was no reason they couldn't make this work. However, he couldn't quell the impulse to ask, "But what if they already know about the Code? Then we'll have to convince them that there _is_ passion for us. Maybe we could do show-and-tell. Use hand-puppets."

He laughed, but Qui-Gon never bothered to answer Obi-Wan, apparently deciding to practice his showing instead. Though, as Obi-Wan was happy to note, hand puppets were entirely unnecessary.

::::::::::

He'd been feeling good; the dreams abated in number if not in strength, Qui-Gon's comforting presence enough to chase away the chills that followed. He'd been feeling good that day especially, Qui-Gon knocking almost shyly at the door of the room he'd been cleaning, lunch in hand. There'd been other things in hand after they'd eaten, leaving an even greater mess for Obi-Wan to clean, but Qui-Gon had helped there, too.

He'd been feeling good, which meant it was entirely his fault he was surprised; he should have been expecting _something_.

Obi-Wan tried to slow his breathing, to stop panicking, _just a dream_ his mantra as he struggled for control, but it was echoed by _what if it isn't_.

With Qui-Gon's help, he'd released a lot of his darker emotions, had started to deal with the painful memories, but the process was nowhere near complete. The fear was still in him, the memories lingered. He told himself that was all this was, but he couldn't make himself believe it. The Force presence he felt approaching, the faint hiss of the vocoder, the heavy tread coming closer all seemed real. Much as he wanted to deny it, it was real.

He had no weapons, nothing to defend himself except for a mastery of the Force that was still too erratic to be particularly masterful, especially against an opponent as strong as Vader. If he still had his 'sabre… well, if he'd still had his 'sabre, many things would be different now, but they weren't. This was just like Kashyyyk, and he was still too weak to keep from being taken alive again.

The word alive echoed in his head, and he remembered his cell, the feel of the stone shard he'd meticulously sharpened sinking deep into his wrists, the way the blood had been hot as it gushed out of him, slowing, thickening, as it escaped, like lava cooling to stone. He looked at the dustbin Qui-Gon had knocked over earlier, back when he'd been feeling good and they'd gotten a little carried away, looked at the brush that had broken and cut Qui-Gon when he'd rolled over on it, a tiny wound that he'd laughed over, saying if Obi-Wan wanted to stick something in his ass, he had better things in mind than a stick that was going to make him bleed.

His thoughts were tumbling through his head, lightning quick, but Vader was still coming closer, and there wasn't any time. Obi-Wan's fingers closed around the wood, but he hesitated, the thought of Qui-Gon finding his body if he were wrong, if this really was a dream, bringing him up short. But the Force blared another warning, and he stilled the doubts, the shaking in his hands, and pressed the sharp stick up against his eye. This time there would be nothing for Vader to heal. This time he wouldn't be weak.

He'd been too intent on Vader, hadn't noticed the other presence close by, and Qui-Gon had no difficulty taking the brush from him, quieting Obi-Wan's protest, his explanation, with one small shake of his head. He said, "There's no need for that, I promise you. I should have told you before, but-" and then there was no time to say more as Vader swept into the room.

Obi-Wan held his breath, as if Vader wouldn't be able to find him if he just kept still, but the insanity of that thought made him expel the breath in a sharp laugh, the tinge of hysteria in it far too clear. He waited, shaking, for Vader to gloat at having Obi-Wan back, at having them both now. He knew that Qui-Gon's being there would just make it worse for both of them, each a pawn to the other's fortune. He waited, and he waited, but Vader just moved around the room, the vocoder making strained noises as if he were trying to smell them out.

As if he couldn't see them, and that didn't make sense. They were both right there, close enough to touch, and yet Vader didn't. If it was a game, it was a new one, unprecedented, because whatever else he'd done, both as Anakin and Vader, he'd never ignored Obi-Wan. Not even when Obi-Wan had wished -- prayed, begged -- for it. He didn't know what he was thinking, maybe he just wanted to stop the charade, but Obi-Wan reached out a hand towards the very thing he least wanted to touch. His fingers were shaking again, a stuttering moment away from Vader's mask, when Qui-Gon's hand closed around them, pulling him back from another brink. He pulled Obi-Wan's hand out, spinning him around so that his back was pressed up against Qui-Gon's chest, a comfort even now, then drew both their hands up to Obi-Wan's chest. Qui-Gon leaned in close, his breath warm across Obi-Wan's ear as he whispered, "Wait."

Vader was still, right in front of them, his head cocked to the side, as if curious. Obi-Wan could feel him there, cold in the Force, warm from the electronics that kept him alive, and he thought he should be a quivering mess to be so close to what he feared the most. But… but he'd already done that, time and again, shaking from memories and possible futures, until there was no room for the fear to go when presented with the reality of the present. He almost laughed again, realizing that for all he'd heard Qui-Gon, he hadn't been listening enough, too caught up in it to see how living in the past and the future had made the present worse. It was only when he was with Qui-Gon, when he finally focused on the here and now his master had always insisted on that he'd felt good. That the weakness that had beset him started to fade, that the dreams he'd dreaded had become more manageable.

He'd known this time, even past his doubts, that Vader was truly here, that it was real, because he'd been in the moment enough to tell it wasn't a dream. And, yes, he was still too weak to win in a battle against Vader, but he wouldn't allow himself to be too weak to win against himself. Feeling free for the first time since he'd woken up here, Obi-Wan let the past and the future fall in their proper place, and faced Vader with the only weapons at hand: his own resolve, and the knowledge that Qui-Gon was watching his back.

Vader was still scanning the room, and Obi-Wan wondered if Qui-Gon was doing something to keep them hidden, because nothing else made sense. Vader held still for a moment, then his breath rasped out in anger. "I can sense your presence, my Master, and _his_ , but you are beyond my touch. For now. But the day will come when I will face you again, and then we will see who is truly the master."

He strode out of the room, already barking recall orders for his men, telling the captain he wanted the ship ready to leave as soon as he got there. Obi-Wan watched him go, and for all his newfound acceptance of his fears, it was still a relief that left him sagging back against Qui-Gon.

It was there, in Qui-Gon's arms, that he finally understood what had happened. The impossible escape. The weakness. The fact that none of the others ever came to see him. He turned in Qui-Gon's arms, looking in his eyes, seeing the answers reflected there, the hesitation that Qui-Gon still felt in telling him the truth. "The others can't see me anymore than Vader can."

It wasn't a question, but Qui-Gon answered all the same. "No. Not yet, anyway."

"And the weakness I feel… is because I kept trying to do what I've always done, how I've always done it, and I'm not the same anymore."

Qui-Gon rested his forehead against Obi-Wan's, shaking their heads together, a tacit agreement.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, apparently an unnecessary one, and asked this time. "I didn't survive the escape, did I?"

Qui-Gon drew breath, too, as caught in the habits of the living as Obi-Wan, at least in some ways. "I couldn't get us out, Obi-Wan, not alive. But I couldn't leave you there. Mace and Yoda had already died, but Yoda had figured out how to keep from going into the Force altogether, had offered Mace the knowledge, too, when he died. It was Mace who figured out how to interact with the living, even non-Force sensitives, so that they could see and hear you. They knew what I was planning, so they came to me, offered me the chance to get you out the only way I could."

He paused, and Obi-Wan felt a tremor go through him. It felt real, just as it had before, when he was living, and that was enough to start him doubting his sanity again. So he let it go, concentrating on what Qui-Gon was telling him instead. "I… I didn't offer you the choice, the way the others did me. I just… I brought you over with me. Which was wrong enough, but then you didn't seem to remember what had happened, and I was afraid… I was afraid that if I told you, with the way the memories of what had happened haunted you, that you would just let go. Would let yourself fade into the Force, and I… I couldn't stand that, Obi-Wan."

Qui-Gon pulled away then, pacing the room as he finally settled into his story, the hesitation giving way to a need to make Obi-Wan understand his motives. "I have a duty, Obi-Wan, to stop Vader. _I_ have that duty, more than any of the others, no matter what Yoda says about the complacency the Jedi had fallen into, or how always changing the future is. It's my duty because I thought I knew better than anyone else. Because I insisted on training Anakin even when Yoda and Mace warned me. Even when you warned me. And I was so sure I was right that I kept going, following the wrong path, even when I could see that things weren't going well. I let Anakin's jealousy keep me from seeing you, because I thought it would help him ease into his new life. When the jealousy continued, when that sense of ego over his own strength grew, I thought it was just his youth, that he'd outgrow it. When he started seeing Padme again, despite my warnings, I ascribed it to the loss of his mother, a comfort he needed. When he started becoming more volatile instead of less, I said it was the times, the Council, hell, the weather, anything except laying the blame where it clearly belonged: with him, and with me. I'd kept explaining things away, rationalizing, letting him get by with it in an effort to keep his anger, the anger the others had warned me about, from growing. I was so sure he would bring balance to the Force, I never stopped to wonder what that meant. But there are only a handful of Jedi left living, against two of the most powerful Siths there have ever been. Maybe that was the balance that was prophesied."

Obi-Wan started to protest, started to use Qui-Gon's own arguments from all those years before, but Qui-Gon cut him off with a kiss, effectively distracting him enough that Qui-Gon continued without interruption. "Yes, I know, maybe not, too. Maybe things had to work out this way. Or maybe they didn't. Whatever, I was still far too arrogant, and I certainly had a hand in bringing about a change that's affected far more than the Jedi. I can't simply go into the Force now, leave the disaster behind that I had so much part in. I can't, Obi-Wan."

"No, you can't."

Qui-Gon sighed, as if he hadn't been sure Obi-Wan would agree, but was relieved he did. But he was still hesitant when he said, "I don't want to do it without you, though. I don't want you to go, no matter how much it might be better for you, or how much I know you deserve the peace. So not only did I bring you over without telling you, but I continued to keep you in ignorance, afraid you would go. That's why Yoda and Mace were so mad at me when you started having the visions. They thought you deserved to be free of them, and that I had no right to keep you as much a prisoner as Vader had."

That made Obi-Wan draw in a startled breath, and he didn't care if he needed it or not. He was going to have words with Mace and Yoda, no matter how good their intentions, about comparing Qui-Gon to Vader. Qui-Gon could be arrogant, as he'd said himself. He could be so caught up in his own views that he wouldn't even listen to sense if it came up and bellowed in his ear. He had flaws, just as Obi-Wan had, just as all of them had, but at his worst there was nothing in Qui-Gon of Vader's Darkness, and Obi-Wan wouldn't let them add to his guilt by even a hint that there was.

He was the one who pulled Qui-Gon in this time, wrapping his arms around him tight, still carrying a small taste of that childhood envy at how far he had to look up to meet his eyes. He was the one who got to comfort Qui-Gon with his presence, with the feel of him, however it was they were accomplishing it. "You're not the only one who has a sense of duty, Qui-Gon. We were all Jedi. And we were all a part of the tragedy that was Anakin's life, in some way or another. No, I didn't choose this life, but I did choose you. Over and over again, all my life, I've been choosing you, Qui-Gon. Always you."

Obi-Wan could almost see the thoughts going through Qui-Gon's mind, streaking by like stars through hyperspace, and he watched them slow as Qui-Gon finally accepted that for all his mistakes, for all _their_ mistakes, they were both here, part of this now, and neither one of them regretted it. The thoughts in Qui-Gon's eyes stilled, coalescing into affection and desire.

This kiss wasn't meant as a distraction, all of Qui-Gon's focus on it, overwhelming and welcome, and Obi-Wan sank into it, not questioning how he could feel this, how he could feel anything, accepting the here and now, Qui-Gon's tongue in his mouth, his hand on his ass, the rush of desire that burned through him.

Afterwards Obi-Wan realized that even with the terror that Vader's presence had brought, he'd still managed to have two orgasms between lunch and dinner, something he hadn't done since he'd been young and foolish. As opposed to being dead and foolish, he supposed, and laughed at the joke.

When he told Qui-Gon what he'd been laughing at, Qui-Gon shook his head disparagingly, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him. "I should have known that not even death would be enough to curb your sense of humor."

"It will linger on far after we're all just myths that no one believes in."

Qui-Gon said, "Good," his smile breaking free, but his voice serious.

Obi-Wan could see the years spread out away from them, the talent that Qui-Gon might have inadvertently suppressed in him, that death might have reawakened, showing him future upon future in a rushing blur too fast to take in, only faces here and there breaking through. He could see Vader, time and again, their fates too tied together to escape, but he could see others, too, many others: young and old, battered and worn, but caring, smiling, happy. The vision left him as quickly as it had come, but it was enough to know that there was hope, to know that they had time.

Obi-Wan let his smile match Qui-Gon's. They'd made a quick call earlier, even as hands and lips had been engaged elsewhere, setting up the meeting with Yoda after confirming what the Force had already told them, that Vader hadn't found anything, not even the living members of their group, but they didn't have to be there for an hour yet. They still had time. Straddling Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan rubbed his ass over Qui-Gon's spent cock, smile going feral as he felt it twitch.

They had time.

/story

**Author's Note:**

> For those who haven't already figured it out, this was kind of based around _The Others_ , a movie I've never actually seen, but which the person I wrote this for loves.


End file.
